One-year later

I sit here in the new Rueff Manor in my Dad's recliner in the Butler room not really sure what to type. Fifty-two Wednesday's ago I spoke and saw my Dad alive for the last time. Unknown to both of us when I dropped of the present I wanted him to give his youngest grandson for his birthday. The next time I would see my Dad he would be laying in his bed with a grimaced look on his face. I'll leave it at that. I ran across the street to Dean and Deb Phelps house. I don't remember much after that until a few hours later I was in a hospital room and still trying to gather myself as to what had transpired.

You see that Wednesday my Dad commented he didn't feel quite right. Said he was dizzy. I told him to take it easy, go to church for his picture and comeback home and I would see him after I got off work. I went to his house and dropped of Micah's shirt and I asked him how he felt. He said he felt better after taking a nap after returning from getting his picture taken for the directory at church. We both pretty much left it at that. Dad had a pacemaker put in June 2000. He did his regular check ups on that. His doctor said he was beginning to show signs of being borderline diabetic and gave him medication for it, but because of the side effects he read on the bottle, he never took it. So when I saw what the death certificate said was the cause of death I still was not satisfied, but I wasn't going to pay the money to find out the exact cause.

He was also fanatic about staying in good shape. He rode his bike a good seven miles a day and depending on what day it was when a different route each day. He also walked several miles when he didn't want to ride and he also went with his friend to the local fitness center and walked the treadmill.

Since he had that spell on Wednesday I thought the first thing I should do before heading into the office was call him as I usually did to see how things were going. There was no answer when I called around 8:30. I called again around 10 and still no answer. I found it strange but thought maybe he had went to a friends house for the day or was still out shopping as he sometimes did on Thursdays to get food for our weekly TV watching of TNA Wrestling and every once in awhile occasional game of snooker downstairs in the basement. I called again at lunch time and at 2:30 and then again before I left for the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame picnic. I left the picnic and just at that point felt something was not right.

As I came around the bend on the street behind my Dad's house I noticed the lights weren't on in the living room. I opened the garage door and saw the truck and car still parked. I opened the door to the house from the garage and began yelling his name. Once I got to the bedroom I flipped the light switch.

We were/are both big fans of ice cream. I can't tell you how many Thursdays since my mother's death on Feb. 4, 2007 (yes the day the Colts won the Super Bowl for my Indy friends) were spent with my Dad eating "Rueff-Size" bowls of ice cream. Also I went over to watch Butler in the NCAA tournament and whenever he wanted me to come over and watch the Colts game with him (which let me tell you was hard because I am not a Colts fan, but every once in awhile I found myself cheering for them because of my parents being fans). When the Colts played a "big" game, Dad always called and asked if I could come over and watch it with him.

We used to go to the Pacer-Suns game each year but mainly have stopped doing that because Dad would rather watch it in the comfort of his own home. Silly he said to go to the games when you could just sit at home and watch it from a better seat and not have to worry about parking, food and could do whatever you wanted at your leisure. After having a season of tickets at Butler for one year, I have decided on the same thing this season in regard to watching the Bulldogs especially if most of the home games are going to be on television.

My Dad and I became awfully close those last 3 1/2 years after Mom died (she too died totally unexpectantly). Not only on Thursday nights did we have our ice cream feasts but on more than one occasion during the week Dad and I made a trip to Subway for lunch. Or we would use a coupon to eat at Arby's or Captain D's. From Feb. 4, 2007 until Sept. 8, 2010 I don't think a day went by I didn't call him or at least stop over at the house to see him. Sometimes it was just a call if I was out of town on business.

I learned so much through my Dad through the years. Moreso that I even I probably knew. Of course there have been plenty of times during these last 52 weeks where I sit there and realize it. Most notably the one thing I have done is I took his art of negotiating a good deal or at least finding one when I saw it. Never forget one salesman's reaction when I met with him in April of this year - "When I saw the name I got sick to my stomach and knew I was going to have the pencil sharpen. You are just like your father when it comes to making a deal."

I believe something else I learned from my Dad was to always be prepared but on the other hand you can't always be prepared. Does that make sense? Let me try to sort this out for all of us. A friend of my Dad sent an e-mail to him a few weeks prior to my Dad's death. It was showing Jesus dying on the cross and also discussing how we had a choice to make. In the background "How Great Thou Art" was playing. My Dad and I were baptized together by Roger Gifford on Sept. 1, 1985 at Bargersville Church. The one thing Dad always reminded me was that we had made a promise to Jesus to obey his laws and that we better follow the promise we made by being baptized and continue to grow in our faith. That was being prepared. The part of being unprepared comes because we don't know when God is going to call us home. Yet we will at least be prepared for our judgement.

There I hope I straightened us all out with that one.

Can I just tell you how much I still dread Thursdays. There for awhile it was tough going straight home from work and then when basketball season began going straight home from basketball games. The toughest Thursdays were the two Thursdays when Butler played in the NCAA tournament. Not being at Dad's to watch any of it this year just took some of the excitement out of it to be honest with you. Would have loved to seen his reactions of me going nuts during that whole Pitt scenario.

If you want to call it reality or whatever it is I think it finally all hit me in April. Basketball season was finally over and I wasn't going here, there and everywhere because of it. I could finally sit down and take everything in as to what had transpired.

Getting away to Florida for two weeks at the end of May to be honest I think was a life saver for me. It got me out of my depressive state. It got me to enjoy life again. More importantly it got me to enjoy my family again, which for about a month wasn't happening like it should.

Of course I thought about "what if" I had thought Dad should have went to the doctor or even the hospital on Sept. 8. As I previously said Dad and I both just passed it off. He said he felt better and I took him as I always did at his word.

As I said on my facebook status earlier today only ONE knew what was going to happen in the overnight after I told him goodbye and that I would see him after the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame picnic the next night.

Don't get me wrong there have been plenty of times I have been mad at my father. Down right upset that he was hoarder - my mother and him both. The fact they kept everything drove me nuts while we spent hours upon hours cleaning out their house over these last 12 months. Why would anyone keep a receipt from some Franklin hardware store from 1954? Not to mention EVERY performance review from his employer since 1967? The best though was opening a filing cabinet and finding a ledger from my grandfather when he farmed from 1938. Wendy laughed at me when I said the garage would be the hardest part to clean out. She was very optimistic we would get it done in a day or two. It took us almost two weeks and then some to get it completely cleaned out. I took most of the tools and other various things a man needs for his garage and got rid of mine. Hands down when it comes to tools my Dad's put mine to shame.

Not only did we have my parents stuff to go through, we also had my grandparents things along with things I thought I had originally got rid of when I moved out of the house in 1998. As we were going through things Wendy and I would occasionally look at each other and ask - "Why?" on what was kept.

As mad as I would get at times I can understand why Dad did some of the things he did and I smile and laugh.

In a way by doing what he did in saving and writing everything down he has once again laid out the plan for me in keeping care of his things for my own using. Like making sure the lawnmowers and his other equipment were properly maintained; making sure I knew took especially good care of the snooker table as the name plate says - "Made especially for John & Rob Rueff"; when to change oil in the truck; how to properly use the grinder and the jacks. It's these little things that taught me to take care of what he left me. Let me tell you I had a breakdown a couple of weeks ago when I accidentally dropped the drill and broke his 5/16 bit in half. I stopped organizing the garage of the new Rueff Manor that night because of it. Luckily he's got plenty more where that one came from. Which begs the question - just how many drill bits of the same size does one man need? Not to mention all the other multiples of tools I have at my grasp now.

Speaking of Thursdays, as I previously wrote the last time I played snooker at my parents' house was a Thursday night. Yeah I was playing against myself but most of the time I imagine I was playing against Dad and of course - WINNING! I think the double "Rueff Size" bowl of ice cream I had that night was definitely in his honor.

At this point I want to thank the Most Beautiful Woman in My World my wife Wendy and the four horsemen of our family Andrew, Ryan, Luke and Micah - otherwise known as the Fabulous Rueff Boys. They have been great support throughout the last 52 weeks. Many a night when I don't sleep and either Wendy has come downstairs to be with me or one of the FRBs (as people have abbreviated them on Facebook) have come down and just lay next to me as I watch television or type on my laptop. Most of all they were there when I needed a good laugh or something to put a smile on my face when I didn't think I needed it.

Not really sure how to end this. I've rambled enough. I think back and I realize how blessed I was to have John Rueff as a father and Carole Anne Rueff as a mother. Everytime I see something that reminds me of them brings a bittersweet moment to my mind - especially when one of the FRBs does something I remember doing when I was their age. Or I remember how either Dad or Mom reacted when I did something and it's exactly how I react to my son's actions now.

The only thing I guess I can say is something I don't ever think I said enough to them - "Thanks."